


Cold as Glass

by gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crack, Drunk Sex, Loki is a mess, Lokicest, M/M, Mirror Sex, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 03:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15501324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows
Summary: All Loki wanted was to get laid, but this wasn't quite what he'd had in mind...





	Cold as Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Is this what I should have been working on today? No. Is this what got done today? **Apparently**. 
> 
> This was actually the scrapped original draft for the prompts that eventually morphed into [Spirits I Have Conjured](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14954882), but those prompts needed A Very Serious Story, and this thing just wanted to be bizarre and slightly crackfic-y.
> 
> If you're over on Tumblr, please consider following me at [gaslightgallows.tumblr.com](http://gaslightgallows.tumblr.com/) for more fic, reblogs about writing, and lots of randomness. Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Loki undressed angrily in his bedchamber, sulking after a long, mead-soaked feast in which no one had paid him the slightest bit of attention, glad to be away from his brother and his friends but not pleased that he was once again alone for the evening. “Does Thor ever have any problems getting women to go to bed with him? No, of course not, who would dream of turning down the heir to the throne. Sif and Fandral can have their pick of men and women, the both of them, but no one will give _me_ more than a playful peck on the cheek.” 

He stripped off all of his finery, right down to the skin, and threw his clothes into a corner, uncharacteristically uncaring. His parents, his brother, his friends, all insisted that his lack of lovers was not _his_ fault, that there was nothing the matter with _him_ , and that he simply had not found the right person yet. It reeked of patronization, and he resented their attempts at humoring him.

He didn’t blame the objects of his desire for not wanting him, or worse, for wanting nothing to do with him. Willing as he was to lay blame for nearly anything at Thor’s feet, it was plain enough that the problem did not originate with his brother, but with himself. He was simply... wrong, somehow. 

But did he not already know that? Had he not always known that? He felt it in his bones and in his guts, whenever he went amongst his brother and friends, as though there was something unclean about himself. Something unnatural. 

And as if he needed more proof… 

He was standing naked in front of his long mirror and cataloging the many deficiencies of his male form (he hadn’t dared show his female shape in public yet) – too pale, not muscular enough, no beard, not well-enough-endowed – when his reflection started talking to him. 

“You’re much too hard on yourself, you know.”

Loki jumped. “You’re…”

“You. I’m you, of course. So of course, I would know. And trust me, you’re not giving yourself enough credit.” The image grinned, and its mouth grinned in the opposite direction that Loki’s mouth went. “There are plenty of people in this court who would give ten centuries off their lives to get you alone for just five minutes.”

Loki blinked and stared, only half-listening to what the mirror image was saying. 

It looked like him. It was absolutely unquestionably Loki in appearance. But was… was it real? Or in his attempts to keep pace with Thor and Volstagg, had he had more to drink at dinner than he’d thought?

“Who are you? _What_ are you?”

“Oh, I’m you. No more, no less. Merely...” The image pondered for a moment and then smiled. “You.”

“Me? But I – you – gah...” Loki scrubbed his hand through his short hair. “This makes no sense.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes! I don’t—” The sentence stumbled in his throat, started as a shocked yelp and ended up as a pathetically loud moan, as the image in the mirror (behind the mirror?) ( _one_ with the mirror?) reached through (through?) the glass and took hold of Loki’s flaccid manhood. 

“It doesn’t matter,” the other Loki said softly. “I might be you, from the future. Or I might be you from an alternate universe. Perhaps I’m the result of a spell, and someone is playing a very cruel trick on you. Or maybe you’re just very, very drunk and not handling it very well. In which case, I’m the most terrifically bizarre hallucination I’ve ever heard of. But really, it doesn’t matter. Just like all of the things you were talking to yourself about. They don’t matter.”

Its hand on Loki’s cock was chilly and firm, and it felt both like and unlike his own hands, in a manner that he was in no condition to find words to describe. Loki swayed on his feet and then lurched forward, catching the mirror by its carved wooden frame. 

“It’s all well and good,” his reflection continued, twisting its wrist just enough to make Loki whimper and then flush with embarrassment, “to try and behave like Thor to gain Odin’s approval. But if your prospective bedmates want someone like Thor, they’re going to veer towards Thor. You, though... you have charms a-plenty. You do,” the other Loki said, in response to its counterpart’s snort of disbelief. 

Loki shook his head and started enumerating his own physical flaws again, but his reflection ignored him, eyeing him appreciatively. It seemed to be getting rather… aroused.

Finally tiring of the argument, his reflection simply stretched its free arm through the watery surface. Another chill hand on Loki’s skin, this time curled around his hip bone, and he was pulled flush against the mirror and then he felt lips and a tongue and _oh Norns_ —

Its mouth was _cold_ , slick and smooth as glass, but only for a second, and then all the heat and wetness that Thor and Fandral boasted of over their beers rushed in on him and his mind sank into a roaring sort of quiet that drowned out all other sound save the humming and sucking noises that his submissive double was making. 

The sucking noises were particularly obscene. Wet and sloppy. They offended Loki's dignity; they pained his carefully-taught sense of propriety. And they only made him harder. 

Soon he was rocking on his heels, trying not to thrust – some part of his brain reminded him that it was glass, after all – and his hands searched in vain for the head of the thing pleasuring him, hunting for hair to sink his fingers into, to brace himself when he came, unexpectedly, like a star going supernova.

_And this is all I will ever get,_ Loki thought, glaring angrily at his own naked reflection, the mirror spattered with his cum. _This is all I will ever be worth._

His reflection looked up from its kneeling position, grinned, and wiped its mouth. "Look on the bright side," it said, sitting back on its heels. "How many people can reasonably say they've fucked a mirror?"

_There is nothing reasonable about this. Something has gone wrong._

"Wrong? No, no, my lad, that's where you're mistaken. This is all _you_ , after all. Nothing to do with me."

_I'm the only one who would ever want to fuck me._

"Of course," said the mirror Loki, a touch impatiently. "That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

Loki frowned, his breathing going shallow again. _Come out here._ He held out his hand, half-expecting to wake up this time. 

The thing reached through the silvery glass and clasped Loki's fingers. “Oh,” it breathed. “You’re warm.”

The mirror Loki pulled itself out into the real world and for a moment they both stood in astonishment, staring at one another. Then Loki grabbed his reflection and started kissing him for dear life.

They tumbled onto the bed and, on Loki’s command, his reflection started fingering him. Its fingers were slick, and cold as icicles. _As glass,_ thought Loki nervously, and from the back of his brain came a sudden wash of fear: what if his opposite was too fragile? What if it shattered inside him? 

But the mirror Loki heard his thoughts and just grinned. 

“Don’t worry. I promise you, my lad, we’re both strong. Stronger than we look. So tell me... what do you want from me? I’m here for you, after all.” 

“Your cock,” Loki gasped, reaching blinding between them and, for a moment, not sure whose manhood he was stroking. “I want…”

His reverse loomed over him, thrusting lightly into his hand. “You want…? Say it.”

“Fuck me,” Loki breathed, his stomach and cheeks and chest flushed and burning. His mirror image stroked a slow, firm palm up his torso, from his pelvis to his sternum, painting a cold broad stripe across his skin. 

He gave in and gave over his virginity to his own reflection, its cock spearing through him like frostbite, making him come, making him muffle his climaxes in the cold skin of its shoulder, and through it all, Loki had no idea if it was even real, or if he was only drunkenly fantasizing while jerking off in bed. 

Eventually, somewhere near dawn, he passed out from exhaustion. 

When he woke, he was on the floor, tangled in a sheet, sticky and aching in several body parts. Carefully, only bothering to open one eye, he raised his head a few inches from the pillow that had migrated down as well. 

The mirror gleamed at him in the mid-morning sunlight, looking altogether too smug.

Grimacing, Loki called for a page. He ignored the boy’s dumbfounded stare and ordered him to fetch the master of the chambers to him, at once. 

He meant to dress before the man arrived, but his trembling limbs disagreed with him, and in the end all he managed to do was roll over onto his back, so Loki remained where he was, clad only in a soiled sheet and whatever shreds of dignity he could salvage. 

When Audun, the king’s lord chamberlain, arrived, he almost did a double-tage. “You sent for me, your highness?” said the man, looking someone alarmed to find his prince in such a state. 

“I did.” Without moving the pillow from his face (the sun _was_ very bright), Loki flopped a hand vaguely in the direction of the mirror. “Get rid of it.”

“Of... the mirror, my lord?”

“Yes, the mirror. Get it out of here. Now. This minute. In fact, I not only want it removed, I want it destroyed. I want the frame burned and the ash cast into the void. I want the glass melted down and flung into the sea. Obliterate it, do you understand me?”

“I... yes, of course.” Audun snapped his fingers and a pair of menservants came forward and hoisted the heavy looking-glass between them. “It shall be done, just as you order.”

“Good. That’s all, you can go. And Audun? Say nothing of this to the king and queen. There’s no need to worry them about such a trifling matter as a mirror.”

“Of course not, my prince.” The chamberlain bowed to Loki’s pillow-and-sheet-covered form. “We shall leave you now.”

Groggily, Loki listened to the servants cursing and muttering under their breath, and the creaking of the wood as they carried the mirror from his chamber. Only when the door closed did he sit up with a groan that sounded as though he was rising from the dead. 

He flung a lock spell at the door and then hauled himself off of the floor and into his bathing chamber. It took longer than it ought to have. He _ached_ , from top to tail, he was tired, he was _sticky_. 

A long, hot bath, that was what he needed. To soak in steaming water until his head floated away...

Loki’s hand paused over the sensing element to fill the deep tub. “Then again,” he muttered, adjusting the temperature to something more tepid, “perhaps it would be best to keep my wits a little closer to me, from now on.”


End file.
